


Mistakes

by GotTea



Category: Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24661972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTea/pseuds/GotTea
Summary: Grace should have known better, she really should. Happy Birthday Joodiff! xxx
Relationships: Peter Boyd/Grace Foley
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Joodiff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joodiff/gifts).



**Mistakes**

* * *

“I always knew it would be a mistake to play cards with you,” sighs Grace, shaking her head in exasperation.

From the other side of the coffee table Boyd is grinning at her, victorious and rather too gleeful. “That’s not my fault,” he smirks, eyes gleaming. “Now take it off, Grace. Rules are rules.”

“They are indeed,” she acknowledges, eyes roaming his bare chest as he takes his turn to shuffle the deck of cards.

She leans forward, picks up her glass. Takes a slow sip of the delightful red she discovered quite by accident during an afternoon out not so long ago. Closes her eyes and savours the wine. Is well aware that the top button of her blouse is already unfastened, and that he’s more than likely taking advantage of the view.

Peter Boyd is nothing if not a thoroughly red-blooded male. And she loves it.

She’s right. Returning her glass to the table she settles back against the cushions, sees the tightly controlled frustration hiding in his eyes. He won’t tell her, of course, because that’s all part of the game, but she knows exactly how much he already wants her.

“Off,” he repeats, one eyebrow quirked as he reminds her of her loss and begins to deal a new hand.

“So fierce,” Grace snickers, carefully starting to unfasten buttons. Slow and steady. Provocative.

She doesn’t like poker, but with the power out and heavy rain falling with a truly relentless zeal, as part of an evening in surrounded by candles and wine, rummy seemed like a good option at the time.

Now that she’s losing, though…

Still, rules are rules, and Grace dutifully lets her blouse slide slowly down her arms before arranging herself along the length of the incredibly comfortable sofa. Entirely smug, but masterfully hiding it, she watches as her lover fumbles the cards in his hands, his gaze inexorably drawn to the rich teal lace of her bra as she reclines lazily.

Boyd bought it for her, after she’d finished treatment and begun to recover. While she was still feeling so very raw and insecure about her appearance. She’s still not quite sure about his motives, but the effect it seems to have on him…

It’s for that reason it so rarely leaves her underwear drawer, special occasions being the usual prompt, but this morning she snagged it on a whim while he was still in the shower and it seems it was a good decision, if the heavy swallow she sees is anything to go by. There’s a little less fabric to it than what she typically choses to wear, preferring comfort above all else in the course of normal day-to-day life, but it is elegant, pretty and it fits her exceptionally well. Does fantastic things for her cleavage. And, it seems, it conjures a wealth of erotic thoughts and desires in a certain tall, handsome detective. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, shifting uncomfortably in his armchair as he pushes her cards towards her. “That’s not fair.”

Smiling sunnily at him, and making sure she leans forward at just the right angle to pick up her new hand, Grace shrugs innocently, well aware of the ripple of flesh the movement causes. “How was I supposed to know you were going to take it into your head to play cards?” she points out. “I thought we were going out for a nice romantic dinner, not staying home out of the elements.”

“True,” Boyd concedes, his eyes still firmly fixed on her chest. He swallows again, and then looks up at her face. “This wasn’t what I initially had in mind, but dinner was nice…”

There’s a touch of endearing insecurity in him that makes her smile inwardly. “Dinner was lovely,” she assures him. He’s a good cook, and generally he knows it, but just occasionally ugly memories rear their heads and bite at his self-assurance. A vulnerability that only she sees, and that only makes her love him more.

Boyd’s given her a terrible hand, and before she knows it she’s on her feet, unbuttoning the soft jeans she was just about to change out of when their evening plans were suddenly diverted. There’s a flash of hope in his eyes as the button gives way, the zip descending slowly in its wake, and Grace is sure she knows why; it is a matching set, after all. He’s not disappointed, and it’s very good for her self-esteem as his eyes cling to her, follow the slow descent of the denim all the way to the floor before sliding slowly back up to take in the newly revealed scrap of cloth left behind. He’s a breast man, first and foremost, but he also loves a good pair of legs and though she can’t claim much in the way of height, she can definitely hold her own when it comes to shapely lower limbs.

Still on her feet, Grace bends forward to collect the cards from the table, carefully concentrating on her task, fully well aware of the position of her assets in relation to Boyd’s gaze. It’s not until she begins to straighten, though, that she finds herself face to face with him as he leans forward, perched on the very edge of the armchair.

For a moment all she can see are the candle flames flickering in those dark eyes, and then suddenly she’s being kissed. Deep and hot and hard, his tongue pushing into her mouth as his hand runs through her hair and around to the back of her head.

There’s a fire roaring in the hearth and the room is far from cool, with the heavy drapes pulled shut and the door to the rest of the house closed, but even so, Grace feels a shiver run through her entire body as she kisses him back, biting his lip before he pulls away.

“Lose one more hand, Grace,” he tells her, voice husky and deep, “and I can’t promise to control myself any longer.”

She puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezes the muscle there just because she can and because she likes it, and then pushes him back towards his seat as she straightens, stance deliberately designed to make him stare. “As inviting as that prospect is,” she all but purrs, “you know damn well that I don’t like to lose.”

Grinning madly, he settles back into the depths of the armchair, hands propped insouciantly behind his head, biceps deliberately flexed. “True,” he acknowledges, eyes twinkling with amusement as now she looks, and keeping on looking. “Very true.”

It’s a protracted game, and as it draws on, Grace feels the tension rising steadily. She only needs one more card, but if she doesn’t get it soon she knows exactly which bit of clothing he’ll demand she remove next. But then, quite suddenly, he discards the three of spades and she grins in triumph, snatching it up and sliding it into place, dropping the king of diamonds and laying her flush of seven down for him to see.

“Jeans off,” she demands imperiously, settling back into the cushions to watch. “Now.”

Boyd obliges, and he does so with style. So much so, that as he sinks back down into his chair and prepares to shuffle what could be the deciding hand, she’s genuinely tempted to forgo the rest of the game and just climb on top of him. Kissing him senseless and then riding him hard and fast until that wonderful release shatters them both is starting to seem like a much more appealing idea, especially given just how intense the spike of edgy need that’s building inside her is. 

A hand reaches out to her then, offers her new cards along with a ruthless smirk. He thinks he’s going to win, she knows. It spurs her to sit up straight and adopt a tailor seat, legs crossed, ankles tucked neatly under her knees. Ignoring the way he’s watching out of the corner of his eye, Grace begins to sort her cards, puts down the first of the game.

“Tell me something, Peter,” she requests as they continue to play, well aware of the internal struggle her question will create for him. “Which would you prefer; watching me take my bra off myself and then sitting here out of reach, or having the chance to remove it yourself while I’m sat on your lap, my lips on yours and my hand around your cock, working you into a frenzy?”

He was already hard before she asked, that much she’d carefully studied as he revealed pale grey trunks to her. Now though, he takes a deep, deep breath, his muscles tensing as he holds his position. It’s exciting to watch, and gratifying, and Grace feels a rush of heat roll through her body, edgy excitement gripping her tightly as the moment draws out.

“After you’ve won, you mean?”

Hiding her amusement behind a lazy, near indifferent smile, she reaches for her glass again and takes a slow sip, surveying her cards with feigned concentration. Takes her time answering him. Eventually shrugs. Puts her glass down again. “That’s not an answer to my question.”

“No,” he agrees, getting to his feet and stretching, “it isn’t.” In three easy paces he steps around the table, drops down next to her.

“What are you doing?” asks Grace, frowning in suspicion. Boyd grins at her, and it’s that devilish, wickedly smug expression that always, always bodes trouble. He doesn’t bother answering her, instead he leans straight into her personal space until he can kiss her again, his lips hot and sweet against her own, his tongue reaching out to tease hers, probing deep into her mouth. She moans, she knows she does, particularly when his palm glides down from her shoulder and cups her breast, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure.

Screw the game, she thinks, dropping her cards on the floor and looping her arms around him, pressing against his body with abandon as the kiss continues, leaving her breathless and panting as he pulls back, nuzzles her neck, teeth nipping at her soft, delicate skin. He returns quickly, his mouth making hot promises against her own as his hands roam and now she can _feel_ the evidence of just how ready he is pressed against her thigh. She’s about to work her hand between their bodies, to try and reach for him, to slip her fingers beneath the thin layer of his trunks when suddenly he pushes away from her. She growls in displeasure and reaches for him, trying to snare him before he gets too far, but Boyd just grins and keeps on moving, backing away towards his armchair.

Victorious, his eyes are filled with an unholy glee as he holds up his hand, the pretty teal lace of her bra dangling from his fingers.

“How’s that for an answer, Grace?”

“But you – ”

Before she can get the rest of her sentence out, he points to the coffee table in front of her. Four seven’s and the ace, two and three of clubs are neatly laid out beside her wine glass.

Bastard.

Furious, she gathers all of the cards, shuffles them and deals, then lies down on her front along the length of the sofa, chin propped on one hand as she watches him. There’s a hint of a frown at his obstructed view, and then a shrug as he collects his latest hand to see what he’s got to work with.

Organising her cards, Grace chews her lip, thinking. Whoever takes this round will win; she’s left in just her lacy knickers and he’s in nothing but boxers.

She can’t lose. She just can’t.

He’ll never let her hear the end of it.

A thought occurs to her, and she sits up, reaches for her wine again. Lazes back against the cushions and sips, appears intently focused on the game. Distraction. It might just work in her favour. And in stealing her bra, Boyd’s left himself open to the easiest method of snaring his attention.

It works. The level of concentration he’s showing towards the game definitely drops, because she can see out of the corner of her eye as she studies the card she’s just picked up, deciding whether or not to keep it, that he keeps glancing up in what he must think is a surreptitious way. Glancing up and fixing on her body, below the level of her face.

It’s going her way; she’s left her options open and now she needs only two cards to win, with four possibilities that would match. And given what her lover is discarding, he’s clearly not interested in the same numbers that she is.

She loves him. Absolutely, utterly adores him. He walked into her life when she was in desperate need of her friend, and despite how volatile that friendship proved to be, he’s been nothing but loyal to her ever since.

Twenty years of the kind of mischief and chaos only the best of friends can share, and now very nearly two more as lovers, partners, a couple. They know each other so well that still having the ability to outmanoeuvre each other, to surprise one another is nothing short of a miracle, but also something they both cherish. They’ve grown out of the fury and tension that used to spark so easily between them, and if the last eighteen months have taught her nothing else, Grace has learned that they are truly made for one another, that they can survive anything together.

A card lands on top of the pile, and automatically she picks it up, adding it to her hand. She’s still desperate to win because that’s just the way she is, but it won’t matter if she doesn’t. They’ll still fall into a deep well of passion and heat, still share in the glorious, coveted glory of the sublime mixture of sex and love that exists between them, that they have grown into as the years passed. Despite that, though, Grace shows nothing but steady concentration on her face, bites the corner of her lip in worried concentration as play continues, her thoughts expertly hidden behind her mask.

Boyd is getting more and more excited, she can tell. He’s fidgeting in his seat and tapping his free hand on the arm of his chair – he’s close to winning and desperately trying to rein in his glee. Sadly for him though, the next card that lands on the pile is exactly what she needs and, face maintaining her level of concentration and thoughtfulness, Grace takes it and adds it to her hand, carefully removing the one she no longer wants. Boyd crows in delight as she puts it down, snatching the thin sliver of laminated paper and thrusting it into the arrangement held in his hand before theatrically slamming them down on the table and smirking widely at her. He opens his mouth, no doubt to share his victory with her, but pauses when she shakes her head softly, her face giving nothing away to him.

“What?” he demands, piqued. “I’ve won. Now get those knickers off. I want to see you naked.”

Grace leans back into the sofa, artfully making sure she is positioned in just such a way that the low, flickering light will emphasise everything she wants it to, yet still cast her in just a hint of mystery. Boyd groans, and inside she grins to herself, because as he stares and keeps on staring, she can clearly see just how hard he is, how ready for her he is.

“Strip,” he orders, hands resting on the arms of the chair. “My victory, therefore my prize, and I want to see every last inch of you bare before me, want to imagine touching every centimetre of your skin before I come over there and take you, make you beg and scream my name.”

Fuuck…

For just a moment she’s tempted, she really is. Because by God she’s edgy and taut with need now, and she absolutely wants him to follow through on his promise.

But it’s not in her nature to back down, to let him have his way. Especially not when he hasn’t won. Oh no.

Victorious, she slowly twists her wrist, reveals the reason she discarded the card he so wanted. “I do believe, lover,” she drawls, “that it is I who get to see you naked first.”

Boyd’s eyes widen in shock, and Grace resists the urge to cackle. This time, she has well and truly played him. And it’s all the more sweet and satisfying to see the look that briefly flickers across his face before he laughs, shaking his head as he dutifully stands up.

“Oh, Grace,” he grins, hands resting on his hips as he gazes down at her.

“Yes?” she asks, the picture of innocence.

“The things you do to me…”

“What do I do to you?” Grace wonders how he will answer, whether he will even bother with words.

In the end, Boyd simply grins at her and strips, quickly and efficiently removing his boxers. He doesn’t need to answer her, all she has to do is look. And so she does.

Grace knows every inch of his body, but that doesn’t stop her from enjoying herself as she takes her time to look again, and again. It’s clearly too much for him though, because suddenly he’s right there in front of her, pushing her back onto the sofa as he subsides down beside her, one arm curling around her shoulders, the other tracing her cheek gently, before slipping into her hair.

His lips seem to burn against hers, and Grace shivers, but not from cold. Heat and excitement are running through her, gripping her nerves as his fingers glide across her shoulder, down over her arm.

Never one for patience, he’s found the edge of her knickers, is delving beneath them. There’s a tickle of fabric against her skin and then she’s naked, too, and he’s very definitely smug as he watches her, licking his lips as he hesitates, as though he can’t decide what his next move will be.

Grace capitalises on the moment and shoves him sideways into the arm of the sofa before straddling him, rubbing against him and revelling in the deep rumble of pleasure Boyd lets out as their bodies touch. She’s never been one to take a submissive role, and she delights in reminding him so as her hand slips between their bodies, questing and exploring until his muscles are tensed and there’s a low growl in the back of his throat.

For long moments he doesn’t move, his breathing short, sharp bursts as she strokes him, squeezes him. As ever, though, his patience snaps and suddenly she’s flat on her back and he’s pinning her down, his lips and teeth ravaging her neck.

It’s more than just good. It’s sublime. 

Any hints of their game that were still being played out are gone now. Instead there is just the two of them at their most intimate.

And now it’s Grace’s turn for her patience to flee as he reaches for her breast again, thumb rubbing slowly, deliberately against the nipple. To hell with elegance and tenderness, she wants the breathlessness of quick, wild passion. Reckless and hot and hard and oh so fulfilling.

He’s as hard as fucking iron, and as he pushes her tightly against the sofa cushions, she moans and claws at him, trying desperately to pull him closer.

“So impatient,” he smirks, rubbing against her.

“Damn right,” she growls back, looping her legs around him and arching her back, whimpering as just the tip of him slips inside her. “Peter…” she gasps, enraged when he stills, does nothing to ease the furious need burning through her.

“What?” He’s watching her, a sedate but entirely feigned look of calmness on his face as he enjoys tormenting her.

This is teasing of an entirely different kind, and just now she’s really not in the mood for it. 

Grace leans up, bites his neck. Uses just a little more force than she normally would, enjoying the course sound that he makes. Tilting her head back, she finds his lips, kisses him roughly, quickly. Forces her tongue into his mouth, claims it as her own.

It works, because his resolve cracks, shattering his ability to tease, to draw it all out. The fire returns, and with a vengeance as he kisses her back just as fiercely, as he bucks his hips and then oh God yes, he’s exactly where she wants him to be, fully seated inside her.

“Yes,” she groans, the word drawn out with ecstasy as she tightens around him. The guttural groan that escapes him then does wonders for her self-confidence. Christ, the look in his eyes as he stares straight into her soul, the way her name hisses out from between his lips.

Grace drags her nails down his spine and then shivers and delights in the way he instantly responds, setting a pace that is quick and satisfying, but not too impatient. There’s a hand on her breast still, just a tad rough as it touches, squeezes, and then there’s her fingers, cramping in his flesh in return as she clutches at him, feeling the intense sensations build and build.

Boyd drops his head down low, lets his lips wander over the shell of her ear. Whispers things that in her younger days would have made her blush furiously. Now she simply takes his head in her hands, frames his face with her fingers and stares into the very depths of his eyes. For a few precious seconds something passes between them, something silent and unspoken but very much about the essence of who they are together, what they mean to one another.

And then it shatters as Boyd shifts his hips very slightly and Grace plummets into the blistering pleasure of release, deaf and blind to anything but just how good she feels in that moment, just how good he makes her feel.

Slowly, so, so slowly, she becomes aware of the world again.

There’s the heavy clatter of the still pouring rain smacking against the big windows behind them, and the softer sound of breathing beside her. There’s heat, too, because Boyd’s big, warm body is wedged beside hers, pushing her deep into the comfort of the sofa cushions.

A tickle against her cheek is his hair, his head buried in her shoulder.

Rhythmic pressure against her side is his breathing, his ribcage expanding and contracting, its tempo slow and steady, reassuring.

Most of all though, there is the stillness as they both recover.

Grace keeps her eyes shut and inhales, takes in the smell of them combined together that is still lingering in the air. She feels the warmth that has nothing to do with his body heat and everything to do with love, with the powerful reminder that sex and physical closeness always brings.

Still tingling in the fading aftermath, she’s happy. Deliciously so.

After all the years and fights and bitter disappointments she has exactly what she’s always wanted, and it’s better than she ever allowed herself to imagine it would be.

“Stop it,” mumbles a ragged voice, the head it belongs to only burying itself further into her shoulder.

“Stop what?”

“Analysing. Just accept it for what it is, woman. We have bloody good chemistry between us, and that’s that.”

Smiling up at the ceiling, Grace can’t resist needling him. “What would you have done, if we ended up in bed together and it just wasn’t… good?”

Grumpily, he raises his head, stares down at her. “Why on _earth_ would I contemplate that?”

“Because,” she begins…

“Grace,” Boyd interrupts, collapsing back onto the cushions. “Stop it. That was a bloody good shag and I’m still enjoying the aftermath. So, for God’s sake, shut up analysing it, will you?”

“You’re so unromantic,” she sighs, letting the fingers of the hand that’s curved around him slide into his hair, idly playing with the soft strands.

“ _I’m_ unromantic?” he splutters, outraged. “Jesus Christ, woman. Just listen to yourself. You’re the one trying to hold a post mortem whilst I’m here enjoying the aftermath and thinking about how fucking sexy you looked sitting astride me in the candle light.”

She’s about to argue back when his words filter through her brain properly. “Are you really,” she asks. 

“Am I really what?” There’s weariness in his tone now, and strained tolerance.

“Thinking about how… about me in the candle light?” Despite her confidence with him, Grace can’t bring herself to say those words.

Boyd snorts. “Of course, I am. I’m a man, for one thing. You have no idea, do you? You know, I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I woke up in the night thinking about you before we got together. How often I used to fantasise about seeing you naked.”

Without warning and seemingly out of the blue he moves, nipping her breast. Grace yelps, and then hisses as his lips capture her nipple and his tongue teases. There’s pressure and sensation and a rush of pleasure from nowhere. Suddenly she’s back in the maelstrom of intensity with no conscious thought or effort on her part, and Boyd’s fingertips and nails are skimming over her belly, invoking deep shivers inside her.

There’s a cackle from between his lips as Boyd noses his way across her torso, his lips seeking her other breast, determined, it seems, to share his attention on both sides of her body.

It’s more than good. It’s exquisite. Somehow, whether through careful study or innate ability, he knows exactly what to do to her, and how to do it to her.

There’s light pressure against her belly button as he circles his thumb there, and that’s pleasant all on its own, but then he moves the digit, tracing a line straight down her body until he finds exactly the right place to stop and tease, to work slowly and steadily at exciting her, pleasuring her again.

Except for Grace it’s not slow and it doesn’t take persistence, not this time. This time she is so wound up and so taut with sexual tension that she moans, long and low, as her back arches involuntarily and she gasps his name, threatening all manner of evil torments on him if he stops what he is doing.

Boyd doesn’t stop. Not even in the slightest.

She has no idea where this moment has come from, or what really sparked it, but Grace isn’t about to complain. No, instead she curses at him, begs him, pleads with him to finish it for her. Knows in the tiny, tiny part of her mind that still has a fraying grip on reality that he could stop, just to vex her. But he won’t. She knows that to. He may well be spent for now, but he is a man and he is smug. And he enjoys playing with her body far more than any other man she’s ever encountered.

His thumb is working her, and his fingers are slipping inside her. Not as big and thick as his lovely cock, but still just as good at eliciting that wonderful hedonistic bliss.

She’s crying out now, her muscles tense and shaking, her words an incoherent tangle.

He is so, so good at this. 

Dark eyes appear above her, a wicked smile stares down at her, his eyes glinting with mischief. Mischief, and love. Grace wants to tell him how much she adores him, how he means everything to her, but the words get lost in her throat. Boyd kisses her, his lips the softest, gentlest pressure to counter that which his fingers are creating. It’s maybe her favourite moment of the entire thing. 

Head lifting, he makes a show of studying her, as helpless as she is in his arms, as caught up in her own desperate need and completely at the mercy of his actions as she is.

Low and throaty, he utters a growl of approval, offers her a self-satisfied smirk. “Like I said, _incredibly_ sexy.”

He kisses her neck, gently sucks the delicate flesh as his fingers increase their tempo and Grace genuinely screams as the world explodes around her, intense pleasure obliterating everything for long, long moments.

When she eventually briefly opens her eyes again the thick wax bodies of candles have burned down low. Outside it is still continuing to rain with enthusiasm, but inside there is a glow from the kitchen to indicate that the power is back on.

Boyd is lying on his side, silently watching her, deep in thought and observation, it would seem.

“What?” she croaks, startled to hear just how raw her voice is.

Boyd shrugs, kisses her on the forehead. “I was just thinking how beautiful you are.” His honesty touches her deeply. “Especially when you’re all dishevelled like this.” Gentle fingers play with strands of her hair, draw tiny spirals against her temple.

“Mm,” Grace sighs, still hazy, and thoroughly caught up in his touch. She really can’t think of an appropriate reply.

She can feel him looking down at her, though, even as she keeps her eyes shut and drifts on the heady warmth that’s flooded her veins.

Soft chuckling makes wonder what he’s thinking, but still she stays where she is. It’s incredibly comfortable, being tucked against his warm, solid bulk with a strong arm draped around her. Comfortable, and cosy.

“You’re really not with it yet, are you?” He sounds amused, endeared even, perhaps.

It takes a supreme effort of will to answer. “No.” The word is unclear, mumbled, even to her own ears.

“You really are very, very sexy when you’re like this, you know.”

“What?” Grace blinks, forces her eyes to stay open.

Again he chuckles, his arm squeezing just a little tighter. Shaking his head in amusement, Boyd is still looking down at her. “You. Like this. It… does a lot for me.”

She should argue with him, should find some point worth bringing up, if only for forms sake, but the words don’t arrange themselves as they should and, in the end, she finds she really can’t be bothered. And that’s okay, Grace reasons. She’s currently a very, very satisfied woman. And to top it off, she won.


End file.
